Moon-Pale Heart
by Val-Creative
Summary: (Mythology/Folklore AU.) They fear him. Father Frost — the one who brings the cold and sheets of crystalline, blue darkness. Victor goes where he pleases, weighing the evils and goodness seen in mortal hearts, but finds himself longing for something beyond this. A presence that can share in his burdens and may for once understand him.


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Kindness gives.

A selfish heart _takes_.

He has learned this through glimpsing mortals and venturing to speak with them. They fear him. _Father Frost_ — the one who brings the cold and sheets of crystalline, blue darkness. The one who punishes the wicked for crossing his path, trapping them in the storms and freezing their innards to agony.

Such is the fate of many who wander too far from their hearth, who do not believe in retribution.

Victor remembers meeting a child in tattered rags, left to die in the winter fields. She sat in a heap of snow, exhausted and shivering, but greeted him with a lovely, _warm_ smile. Her heart was, simply, good.

For that, he gave her layers of thick, warm pelts and jewels and a chest of gold. Not long after, Victor discovers another small girl in the deep, wintry fields, but this time pretty and rosy-cheeked and suitably dressed for such harrowing conditions. Once he stood over her, intrigued, the girl demanded oiled furs and wealth, for merely _existing_ in the same place as him. And so, he froze her heart with no hesitation.

His staff, magically formed of Russian wood so encrusted by ice it shone a bright white even in the dimness, would glow upon punishing cruelty shown — the olden, azure gem atop flickering like a mystic flame.

Mortals do not understand.

The perennial of wintertide and darkness engulfing the lands exposes a lack of compassion and discipline. It reveals the weaknesses for all those who choose to thrive, instead of isolating themselves from others and waiting for the lenten before rejoining society, and not all can survive the process. Victor goes where he pleases, weighing the evils and goodness seen in mortal hearts, but finds himself longing for something _else_ in return. A presence that can share in his burdens and may for once _understand_ him.

He has heard of creatures and entities such as himself, either whom punish or reward. Or feed aimlessly. Most are not as ancient as Time itself or otherworldly in their beginnings as him. Victor does not recall a Time before this — a Time where he may have dwell in this world as a mortal among baseless needs or impulses.

Lovers, companions and a family of his own are not truly what Victor believes he desires.

Eras pass, regardless of being or vanishing into the ether. He finds himself venturing towards the outskirts of his homeland, gazing across the East Sea and wondering what is beyond the horizon.

More mortals and more like _him_ — clinging to the likeness of a weathered, arcane history unraveling.

Victor decides to cross, one solemn day, and immerse himself in the experience of unfamiliarity. The newness of his surroundings keeps fascinating Victor's mind and stirs whatever heat remains within him. Mortals are not so easily swayed, lingering in the greyness of willfulness unless they have to be. They have always been like this for centuries, and he decides to observe in this happenstance instead of take action.

During the heightening of the night, the elder villagers cower, huddling for shelter. Their younger family members attempt to console them, dismissing their ravings about " _a man! a man lives in the moon!_ " and prepare their supper and daily rites for their gods. " _Katsura otoko! Katsura otoko! Katsura otoko_!"

According to what they believe, a man of immeasurable and tender beauty lives in the sky, on the face of the moon, gazing down on others until they notice him and become fixated by the very sight of him.

They are trapped by him, in grave peril. Staring long enough will drain the very life out of his victim.

Victor wanders out into the fields, invisible to mortals as he normally is, eyeing a beggar pushing a cart through a watery road. The moonlight blackens every stain and the clumps of filth on his garments. He witnesses as the beggar glances up to the cloudless, starless atmosphere and then slowly goes limp and upright. The wheel of his cart falls upon the beggar's foot, crushing it. The beggar does not appear to react, only wistfully reaching up with his arms as the full, gentle moon _beckons_ to him.

The more this goes on, the _older_ the beggar seems to get.

His features shriveling and turning gaunt, his teeth exposing, decaying into visible rot. Finally, he collapses forward, euphorically sighing, dying with his heart no longer beating.

Without tensing up, Victor notices the sensation of a newest presence.

He tilts down his chin and gazes around. Well, it is the _same_ presence as the moon's energy, but compact and radiant and stronger than before.

A man with dark, finely cropped hair gazes back at Victor, warily. His flesh pale and soft-looking as the beams of light above. He's wrapped up in hakama and kimono and a haori-style jacket fitting his broad shoulders. Gold and iridescently sparkling thread weave and line within the ivory-colored material. "What business do you have here?" the moon-spirit asks lowly, not stepping towards him, narrowing his eyes.

Truly, Victor has never seen such _caution_ from a being resembling him. Frankly, no other spirit or elemental has tried to reach out to Victor himself. He cannot gauge what is proper and what isn't. Victor dares to offer a thin smile, arranging his snowy, bear furs strapped with leathered hide criss-crossing to his chest.

"I am afraid none whatsoever. I must say what you did was sufficiently impressive to say the very least of it," Victor admits, canting his head. "The mortal called you _Yuuri_ , didn't he?"

"That's not my name," Yuuri responds, muttering. Victor drops his gaze to his lovely, pink mouth.

"Nor is Victor _mine_ , but hearing it spoken by another feels like they matter to me. That we belong in each other's company and good graces." Perhaps he is shy, Victor supposes, witnessing this being dismissively looking away, his cheeks flushed. "I take it no one has attempted to speak so honestly with you?"

Yuuri's lips twitches downward.

"I should go—" he murmurs.

Victor snatches onto Yuuri's fingers, astonished both at his own movement and at how _hot_ Yuuri's hand feels compared to him. The moon from his viewpoint had been frigid and spectral, neutral to the reapings of man and beast. It may have not be Yuuri himself there when Victor wandered in the brilliance of the eve-fall, masking the grounds and the barren trees with a translucent, shimmering frost.

Perhaps it is the gleam of silvery, softly coating ice in his hair, or the colorful depths of Victor's eyes which makes a severe-faced Yuuri relax gradually against his hold, staring at him with pensive blankness.

"Will you show me where?"

As soon as the words drift off his lips, Victor blinks and discovers himself in an ethereal palace, cascaded in the purest halo of moonlight, brighter than any snowfall Victor has created on a whim, and twinkling, overhead stars dance upon the ceilings. Gilded, luminous tapestries and windowpanes and sculptures emerge into the foreground, as if mindfully placed and precisely where they ought to be.

" _Oh_ , Yuuri," Victor whispers, delighted. "Yuuri… this is unlike anything I've ever seen…"

His enthusiasm lifts the corner of Yuuri's mouth. "Thank you," he whispers, pulling out of Victor's grasp as his companion spins around, exploring every crevice and room, growing more and more and more fascinated by it. Victor grabs onto Yuuri in the middle of one of the parlors, laughing and hugging him so tightly.

It takes no time at all to feel eased and gladdened by Yuuri's company. Victor hopes it is mutual. They speak very little, and often attend to their personal concerns, but end up gravitating back towards each other.

Victor has a peek of Yuuri's true self before a feeding — _vampiric_ in nature — and he's a frightening thing. Twisted and withered like a dried husk, with abnormally long nails and dark hair frizzy and veiling. Yuuri's mouth stretches open like an endless, black maw, and his countenance has not a single detail such as a nose or brow or eye-sockets. He does not feel horror, like a moral's soul and mind would, but _pity_ , grief for how lonely Yuuri seems. Victor has been acquainted with what it is to be deemed monstrous.

After nearly a millennia of taking part of each other's life, Yuuri bestows upon him a small chest made of ivory and gold-gleaming fabric. "I have never done this before," he says quietly, bashfully under Victor's curious gaze. Inside the chest is a moon-pale heart, quivering and beating erratically.

Victor, for once in his existence, _takes_ what is not his, cradling Yuuri's heart against his palms.

"I will cherish it, my darling Yuuri," Victor says, teasingly bumping their noses and mouths, kissing him fiercely while embarrassing his lover in private. It is not in Yuuri's nature to _give_ , not so preciously or selflessly, when the sole means to keeping him alive is to violently steal from the living.

But kindness does give.

And it's okay to be selfish. Once or twice.

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 _Yuri On Ice isn't mine. IM LOVE THEM,,,, IM MISSED MY BOYS! Do you guys miss new episodes of YOI too? I can't wait for the new movie but I want a new seasonnnnnnnn okay so it's been rough goings with trying to upload this fic but it's for Victuri Gift Exchange on Tumblr and for creme13rulee also on Tumblr! I really hope to see some Victuuri shippers reading this and any of your thoughts/comments are deeply appreciated! Thank you so much!  
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